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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652441">all of my pretty (and all of my ugly too)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals'>lettersinpetals</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>pov [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Crossdressing, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gender Identity, Getting Together, I literally have no idea how to tag this, Light Angst, M/M, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi, he's babie, ish, it's very brief</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:40:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,128</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As Kiyoomi tried on the flowy sundress and gazed at himself in the mirror, he thought that he would be really lucky if he was ever accepted this way.</p><p>(In which Kiyoomi is at his happiest when he's wearing pretty dresses and Atsumu learns to be the best boyfriend ever.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>pov [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Don’t Forget These Fics, Fave rarepair fics, SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all of my pretty (and all of my ugly too)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is inspired by <a href="https://twitter.com/adooboo1">El's</a>  <a href="https://twitter.com/adooboo1/status/1353765527638790144">thread</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/adooboo1/status/1355223033204465666">art</a> about Omi being at his happiest wearing dresses and Atsumu as his supportive BF. It turned me into mush in less than a second and my brain refused to let it go so I chatted El and spent days talking about this and now here we are!</p><p>El also made <a href="https://twitter.com/lettersinpetals/status/1364162694194946048">art</a> for this and basically??? handed it over??? to me for free????? I do not deserve but I'm happy to see pretty Omi THANK YOU EL!!!</p><p>And yes I'm reusing names I've used in my previous fics don't @ me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was just a harmless red shoe.</p><p>Shiny and tipped with an intimidating heel, it lay haphazardly on the floor, beckoning to Kiyoomi like a siren.</p><p>He was eight and way too curious for his own good, which was why he snuck into his older sister’s bedroom in the first place. Finding no harm in it, he inched closed and picked the shoe up.</p><p>It was too loose and high for him, and he stumbled right onto the floor when he tried to put his weight on it. He ended up with a bruised knee and a numb elbow after the impact, but he just huffed and staggered to his feet and limped right out the door.</p><p>The bruise faded, but the memory of the shoe never did.</p><p>--</p><p>Kiyoomi was sixteen when his sister found him in her room, practicing walking in her heels. It was black this time, and he personally thought it made his skin look milkier. He liked it. But based on his sister’s face, <em> she </em>didn’t.</p><p>He braced himself for the <em> ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ </em> but what came out of her mouth was, “So that’s why my shoes feel like they’ve been worn down when I barely use them.”</p><p>Flushing, he could only give a stiff bow. “I’m sorry, Aiko nee-san.”</p><p>There was an aggrieved sigh and silent footsteps, then Aiko’s hand was lifting his head up. She studied his face with all too knowing eyes. “You like this stuff?”</p><p>Kiyoomi shrugged helplessly.</p><p>“Are you also the one messing with my makeup?”</p><p>“S-sorry.” He’d thought he was being stealthy, but apparently not.</p><p>“How long have you been doing this?”</p><p>He averted his eyes and mumbled, “Since I was twelve.”</p><p>There was a pause, then Aiko dropped her hand. “What time are Mom and Dad coming home?”</p><p>“Late.” As usual.</p><p>Seemingly making up her mind, Aiko nodded firmly. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“What?” Kiyoomi stared at her. “Where?”</p><p>“To the mall. To buy you your own things.”</p><p>The offer triggered a surge of emotions in him — excitement at finally getting his own heels, his own makeup, maybe even his own pretty clothes, and nervousness at the sudden possibility of attaining all of that.</p><p>But most of all there was the <em> fear </em> — fear of people seeing him, of giving him strange looks, and worse, telling him that <em> ‘those things are not for boys.'</em></p><p>“I can’t,” he blurted out in panic, sounding harsher than he intended.</p><p>Aiko pursed her lips in thought, then exhaled a breath, shoulders curving. “Fine. I understand if you’re not ready yet. I’ll give you some of the stuff I don’t use anymore, but that’s it, okay? No more ruining my other stuff.”</p><p>Kiyoomi looked at her hopefully, hardly able to believe she was being this generous. “Really?”</p><p>A fond smile played on Aiko’s lips. “Of course, kiddo. You should have told me earlier. You’re telling me I could have had someone to talk about this stuff with all these years? You won’t hear the end of it now.”</p><p>Excitement spread through him again, this time slower, warming him inside out. “Will you teach me?”</p><p>“I would love to.”</p><p>And teach him she did. Aiko told him about skin undertones, about how his was <em> ‘cool,’ </em> and showed him which colors would suit him, be it clothes or makeup. She also unleashed on him a load of information about skincare and ingredients and her favorite masks. She talked about nail polish and waxing, and went on a whole tirade about eyebrows, which were apparently important for reasons that were still lost on him.</p><p>At one point his sister casually asked, “So, is this just something you like to do, or are you gay, or non-binary or…?”</p><p>Kiyoomi licked his lips. He hadn’t come out to anyone before, but his sister’s easy acceptance of his years-long fixation made him want to let her in on the secret. Or at least, what he knew about himself so far. “I don’t know what I am, but I think I like boys,” he admitted. Gesturing to the makeup products strewn on Aiko’s bed, he added, “And yes, I like these, too.”</p><p>Aiko merely shrugged. “That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out yet. There’s an entire spectrum out there and you’re only sixteen.”</p><p>Hours later, Kiyoomi left her room carrying the loosest dress Aiko could find in her closet, an old pair of open heels that wouldn’t squeeze his toes, and a bunch of skincare and cosmetic products that his sister no longer liked.</p><p>He felt lighter than he’d had in years. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a weirdo. Maybe he could be accepted this way.</p><p>As he tried on the flowy sundress and gazed at himself in the mirror, he thought that he would be really lucky if he was ever accepted <em> exactly </em>this way.</p><p>--</p><p>He stopped wearing the dress before he even reached eighteen, out of fear that he’d rip it if he forced himself into it. As an athlete, it was only normal that he’d steadily gain muscle — and he did like that because it would help him with volleyball and he liked being healthy and fit — but he <em> didn’t </em>like that he outgrew the dress.</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want me to buy a new one for you?” Aiko said over the phone. She was working now, and lived in her own apartment in Meguro, but she checked in on him from time to time. “I can just have it delivered, you don’t have to come with—”</p><p>“No,” he interrupted. “I doubt they’d have something ready-to-wear for my size. At the very least, it would need a lot of adjustments to fit me well.”</p><p>Not only was Kiyoomi towering over most of the Tokyo population at 6’2”, he had wide shoulders, too. Fast fashion brands simply didn’t create dresses for the likes of him. You know, male.</p><p>Aiko let out a noise of frustration. “Well, I’ll give you something, just you wait. It’s almost your birthday anyway.”</p><p>Kiyoomi couldn’t help but smile fondly at that. “You really don’t have to, you know.”</p><p>“I still will. And you know Kano nii-san would be willing to buy you stuff, too, if you ever told him.”</p><p>“I just can’t,” Kiyoomi groaned. The mere thought of telling his older brother about his love for dresses and makeup and heels filled him with mortification. “I don’t want to. Leave it alone, okay?”</p><p>“Okay,” Aiko sighed. </p><p>She did covertly hand Kiyoomi a gift in late March, a birthday and graduation present rolled into one. Kiyoomi opened it in the darkness of his room after the celebrations to find a white collarless polo that buttoned up to the neck, with billowy sleeves tipped with lace. His eyes widened. It was simple, elegant, <em> pretty</em>. But not too out there to make him self-conscious.</p><p>It was perfect.</p><p>When he put it on, he felt like a prince. He smiled.</p><p>He could start with this.</p><p>--</p><p>In university, he got braver and braver in exploring his likes and dislikes. Nobody there knew him, and for once he didn’t have his cousin Komori to shadow him. Aside from his athlete status — naturally, he’d tried out for the volleyball team there and naturally, he’d gotten accepted — he had no expectations to live up to, no reputation to protect. He was a blank slate.</p><p>And since he lived away from home now even though he remained in the same city, he was more comfortable being himself. That meant wearing the occasional brazen top, which he’d hesitantly bought more of, or putting the tiniest bit of tint on his lips. When he was feeling extra bold, he’d even decorate his hair with hair clips, which took a lot of internal pep talks for him to be able to buy himself. He received side glances sometimes, but the more the students around him got used to him, the more they seemed to accept that was just how he was.</p><p>But he knew it would be a different matter entirely if he strolled into campus wearing a dress or a skirt. He wasn’t even sure he’d be let inside by security.</p><p>The matter was moot anyway. He had yet to find the courage to acquire a dress since he’d outgrown the one his sister gave him.</p><p>As Kiyoomi crawled through his college years, the desire to own one of his own merely grew, but he contented himself with wearing more daring outfits and finding the perfect nude lipstick shade.</p><p>By the time he graduated university as the MVP in collegiate volleyball, he was more or less happy with himself. At the very least, he was more comfortable in his skin, so he counted that as a win.</p><p>He felt the need to tone it down when he tried out for professional teams, though. He didn’t know how tolerant they would be, and he didn’t want to risk volleyball, because it was still the most important thing to him. His identity was just something that existed within him, and it remained true no matter how the world turned — volleyball, however, was something he needed to chase. It was something he needed to work for, and he didn't plan on stopping until he reached his personal best.</p><p>By the time he stepped out of the train station and set foot in Osaka, a different kind of feeling took over him. <em> I like it here</em>, he thought. For all that he loved Tokyo, the city felt a bit stiff and cramped for him.</p><p>And when he met the team, he found them to be generally likeable and easy-going. A little too welcoming, he thought, but they didn’t badger or touch him, so Kiyoomi figured they were fine.</p><p>But there was one standout, one person that his eyes couldn’t help but stray to the entire morning.</p><p>Miya Atsumu.</p><p>Kiyoomi knew him of course, from the handful of times they’d attended the same training camps in high school, not to mention the yearly tournaments their teams had competed in. Miya Atsumu was a good setter, and his obsession with the sport rivaled Kiyoomi’s. He had badly beached hair but was actually pretty good-looking; he was rather arrogant and vain, and his popularity didn’t help that any.</p><p>And Kiyoomi knew he’d be here, because he kept himself updated with sports news, but he was unprepared for how much Atsumu had grown.</p><p>He wasn’t just good-looking now, he was <em> handsome</em>. He had filled out and his hair was lighter, as if he’d finally had a professional do it.</p><p>But he was just as irreverent as ever.</p><p>“Omi-kun!” Atsumu called out as he strutted over, sweat dripping into his eyes. That shouldn’t be so attractive. “My sets have gotten even better, huh?”</p><p>“They’re fine,” Kiyoomi said shortly. <em> I can’t believe he still remembers that stupid nickname</em>, he thought. Atsumu had given Kiyoomi that when they were in training camp together in sophomore year.</p><p>“Fine?” Atsumu looked affronted. “Ya can admit it, Omi-kun, I’m <em> awesome</em>.”</p><p>Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t look like you need the compliment.”</p><p>Atsumu placed his fists on his hip. “Hey, now, when you become part of this team, you’ll have to nice to your senpai.”</p><p>Smirking, Kiyoomi asked, “<em>When </em> not <em> if</em>?”</p><p>“Well, you know, I,” Atsumu stuttered, cheeks flushing. “I mean, you’re practically a shoo-in, don’t pretend to be humble now.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” Kiyoomi allowed. Tryouts weren’t over yet, but Kiyoomi already knew he got it in the bag. It was practically just formality. “But I haven’t decided yet. I have other options, you know.”</p><p>Atsumu’s cocky smile returned to his face. “Then you should give me your number. So you can let me know when you do decide.”</p><p>“Can you two stop flirting?” one of Atsumu’s teammates said as he passed. Kiyoomi thought his name was Inunaki. “We’re in the middle of something here.”</p><p>Kiyoomi blushed and stiffly turned away.</p><p>But he did exchange numbers with Atsumu once the tryouts were concluded, his stomach tumbling now that he was aware of the implications. Was Atsumu flirting? Did Kiyoomi have a shot with him? The possibilities were making him feel strange.</p><p>Later that night, when he was back home in Tokyo, he received a message from Atsumu.</p><p>“I was totally flirting. You should join my team, Omi-kun.”</p><p>Muffling an idiotic smile, he replied, “I was already going to anyway.”</p><p>--</p><p>Dating Atsumu was — well, it was never boring, that’s for sure. For all the space he took up whenever he entered the room, he was surprisingly considerate of Kiyoomi’s boundaries. But then Kiyoomi’s fastidious tendencies and overall fussiness had never been a secret, so Atsumu must have been taking his cue from what he knew from high school.</p><p>But despite all the years they’ve known each other, they were only now truly <em> knowing </em>each other. Kiyoomi learned more about the man behind the skilled setter he’d always known Atsumu as, and he enjoyed finding out just what made Atsumu tick.</p><p>And Kiyoomi was wracked with guilt because Atsumu opened up to him without hesitation, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the biggest part of himself that he hid from the world.</p><p>Aside from his sister, he had never told a single soul. The liking guys thing was easy — while he never shoved it in people's faces, that was simpler to admit to than the fact that he liked wearing clothing generally considered to be for women.</p><p>How in the world was he supposed to tell his boyfriend that? His <em> first </em> boyfriend, his <em> teammate </em>that he’d come to love?</p><p>And he really did learn to love Atsumu. The entire process of falling was seamless, almost effortless. Atsumu went from being a boy he barely thought about to a man he kept in his mind every waking hour. Kiyoomi would be embarrassed if he weren’t so happy.</p><p>Kiyoomi wouldn’t say he was a liar, but it was starting to feel like he was scamming Atsumu into staying with him, so he told himself that he’d come clean and lay everything on the table. But every day that they got closer was another day that made it harder for him to risk what they had.</p><p>He had so much more to lose now.</p><p>So he just didn’t say anything.</p><p>Before he knew it, they’ve been in a relationship for six months. Whatever chance to tell Atsumu about his proclivities had long passed, and Kiyoomi alleviated the heavy guilt by completely burying that side of himself. He was 22, a grown man. He didn’t need his nail polish and lipsticks and frills. All he needed was volleyball.</p><p>And for a while, it worked. He trained tirelessly with the team. They kicked off the V. League season with gusto. He went on dates with Atsumu, fell into bed with him. They spent days doing what they love together, and nights making love to each other.</p><p>Life was good. Six months turned to nine, and he remained in nervous bliss.</p><p>But he should have known that nothing would remain a secret for too long. </p><p>--</p><p>It was just a harmless red lipstick.</p><p>That was what he told himself, but at this point he really should have known better.</p><p>Valentine’s Day was approaching, and an errant thought passed through his mind: <em> ‘I wish I could dress up for Atsumu for the occasion.’ </em></p><p>He tried to brush it off, but the thought latched itself onto Kiyoomi, and everything he’d been burying for the better part of a year was suddenly extremely difficult to ignore.</p><p>The sharehouse that the team lived in was empty, because they all went out for drinks to celebrate their latest win. Kiyoomi turned them down, saying he was tired, and encouraged Atsumu to go with their teammates. After a beat of hesitation, Atsumu had said, “Okay, but I’ll go home early.”</p><p>“No, it’s fine,” Kiyoomi insisted. “I’d rather not deal with the crowd and the noise, but you have fun.”</p><p>Atsumu gave him a nod of understanding and a quick kiss goodbye before jogging off. He never could resist bonding with their teammates, and he knew by now that Kiyoomi liked his space sometimes.</p><p>The moment Kiyoomi stepped into his room, he went straight to the shower, eager to be clean and reunited with his Secret Stuff, as he’d uncreatively taken to call them in his mind. After his bath, he wrapped himself in a bathrobe, too impatient to dig out proper clothes. Water still dripping down his body, he padded over to one of his drawers and opened it.</p><p>He removed the face towel that he’d used to cover his products, and took a moment to brush his fingers against the tubes of lipstick. His collection was small but he was proud of it. He pulled one out, a shade aptly called Scarlet.</p><p>Since he had a lot of time for himself, he decided to go all out with his makeup. There was simply no reason for a male athlete to have a dresser so he only had a desk — he sat on his wooden chair and made do with a portable mirror as he put on foundation, and contour, and setting powder, and blush. It had been a while since he last did this, so he was a bit clumsy, and he didn’t exactly have good lighting. He might have gone a little too hard on the blush.</p><p>He filled in his eyebrows, because his sister was right all those years ago — they <em> were </em>important. Before long he was mostly done. Pleased, he applied the Scarlet lipstick as a finishing touch.</p><p>Pursing his lips, he extended his arm to see his whole face in the reflection.</p><p>And that was how he spotted Atsumu behind him by the doorway, staring at him slack-jawed.</p><p>Kiyoomi choked out a gasp and dropped the mirror on the desk with a crash, reflexively spinning around to face his boyfriend. “Atsumu—”</p><p>“Omi,” Atsumu said slowly, eyes wide and uncomprehending. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m—” There really was no easy way of saying this. “I was putting on makeup.”</p><p>“Okay.” Atsumu kept staring. “What for? Is there an occasion? Is this a sex thing?”</p><p>Kiyoomi winced at that. “<em>No</em>. I just like it.”</p><p>“You like it,” Atsumu repeated. His face was unreadable, and Kiyoomi hated that. He was becoming increasingly upset.</p><p>He crossed his arms defensively and glared at Atsumu. “I like other things, too. Like d-dresses and high heels and nail polish and hair clips. Do you have a problem with that?”</p><p>“Do I— do I have a <em> problem </em>with that?” A storm was clearly brewing in Atsumu now. “Omi, I would have appreciated you telling me about this kink instead of finding out like this.”</p><p>“It’s not a kink,” Kiyoomi snapped. “This is just who I am!”</p><p>Atsumu rubbed his face with a hand, forehead creased, betraying his frustration. “What does that <em> mean</em>? You— you really do this crap? You’re joking...”</p><p>There was a weight on Kiyoomi’s chest, one that he had been carrying around since he was twelve, hell maybe as early as when he was eight. And he usually carried it well, but right now it was almost unbearable.</p><p>His heart was breaking for the first time.</p><p>Tears were dripping down his face, and he <em> hated </em>it, because his makeup wasn’t waterproof, so he must look like a nightmare. He couldn’t bear to ask Atsumu then, if he thought Kiyoomi looked silly, or ridiculous, like a kid dressing up as a clown, instead of a man wanting to be pretty.</p><p>At the sight of his tears, alarm washed over Atsumu’s face and he took a step into the room. “Omi—”</p><p>“Get out.” His words were sharp as a whip. Clear. Unmistakable. “I want nothing more to do with you.”</p><p>“What?” Atsumu gaped at him. “Omi, I think we have to talk about this—”</p><p>“No,” Kiyoomi snapped. “Just go away. And don’t — don’t tell anyone about this.” The words burned on their way out. He felt disgusted with himself.</p><p>For the first time, he felt <em> wrong</em>.</p><p>Atsumu seemed to finally understand the gravity of the situation. “I’m going to give us both some time,” he said carefully. “And then I’m going to come back, and we’re going to talk.”</p><p>With that, he turned and hurried out, as if he couldn’t get away from Kiyoomi faster.</p><p>The second the door clicked shut, Kiyoomi allowed himself to cry.</p><p>--</p><p>February 14th was perhaps the worst day to be newly single. Not only was the holiday a glaring reminder of his heartbreak, they were also a month away from the V. League championship. Kiyoomi had no doubt that they would be reaching the finals, but he was unsure if he’d still be in one piece by the time they got there.</p><p>Ever since that night Atsumu had caught him, his insides had been twisted up unpleasantly. His mind thought it best to replay Atsumu’s shocked expression over and over, further digging in the knife and exposing long-buried feelings and doubts. What did Atsumu see that night when he looked at him?</p><p>The thing is, no one would ever look at Kiyoomi and think, <em> 'Oh he wears lace,' </em> or <em> 'Oh he would look good in stockings.' </em> He knew he didn’t look the type to be into that kind of stuff — he was tall, packed with lean muscle, and the aura he gave off was more <em> gloom </em> rather than <em> bloom</em>. And that was fine because he thought he looked pretty anyway, but maybe...maybe he never did.</p><p>In a fit of self-loathing and rage, Kiyoomi tossed all the offending items in the trash and never looked back. Why did he have to be born this way? Why did he have to be born at all?</p><p>As days passed, he sunk into himself further.</p><p>It was hard, avoiding Atsumu when they lived in the same house and were forced to spend time together daily. It took all of Kiyoomi’s concentration to remain focused on the game during practice and official matches, and not let his eyes linger on his former lover.</p><p>And it became even harder when Atsumu started making attempts to corner him. Due to this, Kiyoomi had taken to speeding through his post-game shower and flying out of the locker rooms like a bat from hell.</p><p>But he could only get way with that for so long. His and Atsumu’s worlds were too intertwined to truly escape him.</p><p>March arrived with warmer temperatures, to his relief. But with it came a very displeased Atsumu, who wouldn’t let him past his door for his morning run.</p><p>“Omi,” Atsumu said in a low tone. “This has gone on for long enough, don’t you think? Let’s talk.”</p><p>Pressing his lips together, Kiyoomi sighed internally and stepped aside to let him in. It <em> had </em>gone on for long enough, and even he was getting tired of dodging the conversation.</p><p>Kiyoomi shut the door once Atsumu had stepped inside. Neither of them bothered to move any farther.</p><p>“Omi,” Atsumu began, turning to face him. “I’m really sorry.”</p><p>Swallowing his pride, Kiyoomi said, “I’m sorry, too.”</p><p>Atsumu nodded, scratching his jaw. “Look, it caught me off guard, okay? And I get that I reacted in a really shitty way. And I didn’t understand before, but I’ve been doing some reading and I understand a little, but you’re gonna have to help me the rest of the way.”</p><p>Kiyoomi blinked wet eyes at him. “What? You still want to —?”</p><p>“Of course I do.” Atsumu frowned at him. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, but you’ve been avoiding me, so I thought you were still mad. What did you think I was going to say?”</p><p>“That I’m gross, I guess.”</p><p>“I don’t <em> think </em> that.” Atsumu strode over to him and gripped his face with his palms. “You are <em> not </em>gross.”</p><p>His vision was blurring now. “But you—”</p><p>“I know, I know, I was a fucking jerk and I’m <em> sorry</em>. I’ll make it up to you, I fucking swear. But Omi,” Atsumu shook Kiyoomi’s head a little. “You have to <em> talk </em>to me. Were you really not gonna tell me about this?”</p><p>Kiyoomi lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I wanted to but— but it wasn’t easy. I’ve never told anyone but my sister. She caught me in the act.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“And I thought you wouldn’t take it well and — you didn’t.”</p><p>“Okay, I hate that I proved you right about that, but I’m going to prove you wrong starting now. I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me, and I’m sorry I reacted that way. I’m learning, okay? Punch me next time I say something insensitive, that’s what Samu does.”</p><p>Kiyoomi snorted wetly. It was a disgusting sound.</p><p>“Why don’t we start now, hmm? Wanna tell me about it? Or maybe you’d like to show me?”</p><p>His lips trembled as he remembered what he’d done. “I threw them all away,” he admitted.</p><p>“Now why would you do that?” Atsumu frowned.</p><p>“It’s all stupid anyway,” Kiyoomi mumbled.</p><p>Atsumu caught another tear with his thumb. “It’s not.”</p><p>“I just don’t — I don’t want any of it anymore. It’s too troublesome. I won’t even fit in a store-bought dress. Because I’m not supposed to be wearing that kind of stuff.”</p><p>After studying him for another moment, Atsumu led him to the bed, hugging him tight when they sat down. “Don’t say that. You’re just upset. And I want you to know that I don’t care what you wear or don’t wear. When we b-broke up, I was really hurt and I kept crying and I just <em> missed </em>you so damn much and I don’t want to go through that shit again. Okay? I love whatever you are. And I realized that’s all that really matters.”</p><p>Hope eased some of the pain in Kiyoomi’s chest, and made him believe things wouldn’t be so bad if Atsumu was still willing to try to accept him. “I love you, too,” he said in a thick voice.</p><p>It was the first time he ever said the words, but he meant it.</p><p>--</p><p>Everyone was acting strange.</p><p>Kiyoomi thought it was just the pressure of the upcoming finals, but after one too many weird happenings, he concluded that his teammates were up to something. They were always either staring at him or hovering near him. And they got touchier, too. At this point, Kiyoomi had warmed up to them, so he didn’t really mind much, but it was still a little annoying. Bokuto kept gripping his shoulders, and then patting them in what seemed like comfort.</p><p>Then there was the time Kiyoomi’s phone went missing, and it turned out Hinata had it. And he kept trying to take photos of Kiyoomi, which he figured out when Hinata had accidentally left the flash on, blinding him for a second.</p><p>But he had no time to dwell in this weirdness, because soon they were facing the Schweiden Adlers at the championships.</p><p>And they <em> won</em>. It was his first V. League ever and they won. He was filled with nearly uncontainable glee. It was during times like this that nothing else mattered.</p><p>Adding to the chaotic high was his 23rd birthday, which was celebrated with too many bottles of beer and vodka, resulting in him nearly drowning in the tub in drunken exhaustion and passing out on his bed the moment he touched it.</p><p>He was woken up the following day by the feeling of fingers stroking his hair. Blinking blearily in the morning light, his eyes settled on Atsumu, who was crouched beside his bed, watching him with a fond expression.</p><p>Atsumu dragged his knuckle down Kiyoomi’s face. “Happy birthday, baby.”</p><p>Kiyoomi smiled sleepily. “Thanks, Tsumu.”</p><p>“Wanna get up?”</p><p>At that, Kiyoomi scowled. “Why.” The final game was over, and it was officially off-season. What did he have to get up early for?</p><p>A smile played on Atsumu’s lips. “I just think you’d wanna get up right now.”</p><p>Apprehension niggled at him, and he gave Atsumu a suspicious look. Well, there was no going back to sleep now. With a defeated sigh, he pulled himself up to a sitting position — and froze.</p><p>Kiyoomi blinked, resisting the urge to slap himself to make sure he wasn’t transported into some luxury magazine shoot. Placed carefully on practically every inch of his bed covers were rows and rows of cosmetic products — lipsticks, eyeshadows, blushes, palettes, brush sets, and even hair accessories that weren’t just limited to his usual hairclips.</p><p>Sunlight bounced off the gold plated packaging and it dawned on Kiyoomi that these were <em> expensive</em>. Definitely nothing like the drugstore products he’d surreptitiously bought and stashed away. These were the nicest things he would ever <em> own</em>.</p><p>There was a bouquet of flowers, too. Springtime daffodils, if he wasn’t mistaken. And hung over his desk chair, which had been moved to the end of his bed, was a gorgeous white dress with a long, flowy skirt and loose sleeves.</p><p>He did the only thing he could think of. He flopped back down in bed and hid under the covers, heart pounding a mile a minute.</p><p>Atsumu laughed. “Omi. Babe, come out.”</p><p>“No.” Kiyoomi placed a hand on his chest and stared unseeingly at the underside of his blanket. What the hell was happening? The thought of Atsumu being so exposed to his secrets sent panic shooting up his throat. But then it was <em> Atsumu </em>who had arranged all this, so he was having a hard time wrapping his brain around that.</p><p>He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt a warm hand move over his back through the covers.</p><p>“Don’t cry,” Atsumu soothed, rubbing gently. “Hey, come out. Don’t you wanna see all this stuff I got you? I think you’ll like them. Um, I hope you will.”</p><p>It was the uncertainty in Atsumu’s voice that had Kiyoomi wiping his eyes and pulling the blanket down. “I hate you.”</p><p>Atsumu grinned crookedly at him. “Happy birthday. And also Happy Valentine’s. I ruined it, so I’m making up for it. I told you I would.”</p><p>Kiyoomi sniffled. “Atsumu.” It was all he could say.</p><p>“Come on, up. You’re being lazy.”</p><p>With a huff, Kiyoomi sat back up and gazed down at his gifts. “There’s too much.”</p><p>“I read on the internet that there could never be too much makeup.”</p><p>“The hell have you been reading?”</p><p>“Beauty blogs?” Atsumu looked entirely too serious, too. What a silly idiot.</p><p>Kiyoomi loved him. “You’re so dumb.”</p><p>Atsumu just smiled at him like he read between the lines. When Kiyoomi eyed the dress on the chair, Atsumu said, "It will fit, I promise. I had a designer make it."</p><p><em> Designer? </em> This was tailored for him? "I can't wear that," Kiyoomi hissed.</p><p>"Why not?" Atsumu asked, sounding amused.</p><p>"Well — it's — too much. It's too — grand."</p><p>"I think you deserve grand."</p><p>"Tsumu." It was nearly a whine.</p><p>"Omi." Atsumu pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Try it out. And your new makeup, too. They're all yours. Go on."</p><p>Kiyoomi chewed at the inside of his lip. The more he stared at his gifts, the more he was itching to open them all up and run his fingers over every powdery surface. Were all these really his?</p><p>"You had help," he realized.</p><p>Atsumu laughed. "Yeah, I called your sister." Well, that explained his missing phone.</p><p>As a matter of fact... "The team?"</p><p>"Yup. I told them I wanted to get you some new clothes but I didn't know your exact size, so... well they're a little dumb, as you know. They just went with it. Not very subtle, but it got the job done. Hinata knows a designer and gave me his number, so it's all hush hush. Don't worry about that."</p><p>The effort that went into this blew Kiyoomi's mind. He stared at Atsumu with wide eyes. "Tsumu?"</p><p>This time the kiss landed on his lips. "Love you, Omi-Omi. Go put your dress on."</p><p>Kiyoomi scrambled off the bed and did just that. Once he was in the bathroom, he rushed through his morning routine and pulled the dress on with trembling hands.</p><p>It fit perfectly.</p><p>He stood there for a while, sobbing quietly as he watched himself in the mirror, amazed at the low neckline, the clinch in the waist. Nothing about it was uncomfortable. In fact, everything felt <em> right</em>.</p><p>And he thought he looked really pretty. Like someone who had just stepped out of a Victorian novel.</p><p>After wiping his face free of tears and getting a hold of himself, he cracked the door open. “Atsumu?”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Can you hand me the other stuff?”</p><p>“Well — which one? There’s too many, why don’t you come out and try them out over here? I wanna watch!”</p><p><em> That’s exactly what I don’t want to happen, </em> Kiyoomi thought internally.</p><p>But he told himself he wasn’t going to hide from Atsumu anymore. Even though the thought of him watching as he put on makeup was nerve-wracking, because surely there was a limit to this? How much would Atsumu be able to take before he’d say <em> ‘Enough’ </em>? Wasn’t there a line that Kiyoomi had to be careful of not crossing?</p><p>If there was, then he thought he’d rather know now.</p><p>So he took a deep breath and stepped out the door.</p><p>The dress fluttered against his ankles as he moved, the skirt swishing around his legs pleasantly. He loved it. The sensation nearly distracted him from the way Atsumu’s eyes widened. Nearly.</p><p>For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Kiyoomi wondered if he was already sweating through the dress. It hadn’t even been minutes yet.</p><p>“You’re beautiful,” Atsumu said, breaking the silence.</p><p>“You’re supposed to say that,” Kiyoomi said. But he blushed. He <em> felt </em>beautiful.</p><p>“I mean it, though.”</p><p>Feeling uncharacteristically shy, Kiyoomi made his way over to Atsumu, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. He sat beside him. “You really want to watch?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He took a deep breath. “Okay.”</p><p>The moment he picked up one of the products, his shyness was chased away by eagerness. He had a fun time prying things out of their boxes and studying them. He didn’t even bother washing the new brushes, he just went ahead and started running them over his skin. Atsumu had apparently thought to include a mirror in his purchases so that was one other thing he no longer needed to worry about.</p><p>When he was done with putting layers on his face, he picked a lipstick from the many, many choices.</p><p>“Charlotte Tilbury?” Kiyoomi asked in shock when he spotted it.</p><p>“Yeah?” Atsumu said cluelessly. “Is that a good one? I just clicked the links your sister sent me.”</p><p>Kiyoomi made a mental note to strangle Aiko and maybe kiss her. “I’m scared to even touch it. This is <em> expensive</em>, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi had grown up in a rich family, but since he'd started earning his own money, he'd learned to second-guess spending thousands of yen on a single item.</p><p>Atsumu just shrugged as if it wasn’t important, and Kiyoomi was reminded that he was talking to a man who’d been independent for years now. Not to mention the money he must be earning from all those brand endorsements he’d attracted with the sheer power of his perfect face. “Look, I just closed my eyes at check-out, it was easier that way.”</p><p>That dragged out a laugh from Kiyoomi. “Are you an idiot?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>Shaking his head, Kiyoomi popped the tube open and twisted the end. It looked like the perfect nude shade. He slid it over his smiling lips — it was easily the best lipstick he’d ever tried. His smile got bigger.</p><p>In his overflowing happiness, he bravely turned to Atsumu, putting himself in display. “Well?”</p><p>Atsumu took his time answering. He ran his gaze over every inch of Kiyoomi’s face before saying, “You look pretty, baby.”</p><p>“You don’t think it’s weird?”</p><p>“Maybe a little, but I like it.”</p><p>Kiyoomi paused to think about that. He <em> was </em>a little weird, and he’d rather people acknowledge it rather than pretend otherwise. But he had to be sure of something. It was a difficult question, but one that needed to be vocalized.</p><p>“Do you think you can like me like this?” he finally found the courage to ask, his voice more vulnerable than he liked.</p><p>“How can I not?” Smiling, Atsumu brushed his fringe back and lifted his other hand to pin Kiyoomi’s hair back with a hairclip. “You look more like Omi-Omi than you ever have before.”</p><p>And Kiyoomi thought that his sixteen-year-old self was right when he put on his very first dress.</p><p>He really was lucky to be accepted <em> exactly </em>this way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm gonna return to this series every once in a while and write about how these precious boys are doing. It's just gonna be a slice of life thing and I refuse to write more angst because this Omi CANNOT SUFFER</p><p>Yes, title of fic and series is pov by ariana grande</p><p>Come yell at me on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/lettersinpetals">@lettersinpetals</a>! Unless you're there to send me hate messages god spare me let the gay boys be soft and pretty</p></blockquote></div></div>
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